


Through the Eyes of a Child

by EmiKougamine



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Acceptance, Friendship, Gen, Self-Acceptance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:34:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24092914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmiKougamine/pseuds/EmiKougamine
Summary: "Your eyes are the same as mine."Since he was a child, Prussia has seen his eyes as a symbol of nothing but misfortune. Children, however, have a way of seeing things differently, and perhaps the view of one rather unique child can help change his mind.Human names used.
Kudos: 15





	Through the Eyes of a Child

Gilbert was in the kitchen of Austria’s house, preparing to make breakfast. A world conference had been scheduled for first thing in the morning, and Austria and Hungary had already set off to ensure they arrived on time, Roderich being very exact about such things. They had eschewed breakfast themselves, as a buffet would be provided for that purpose.

Since Prussia was no longer a nation anymore, and therefore not required to be represented at the meeting, Gil had decided to skip, preferring not to have to listen to interminable speeches and arguments that never really went anywhere, especially not at 9 o’clock in the morning. Instead, he had been left in charge of Hans, as the micronation was also barred from world meetings, and that way Roderich and Elizabeth could focus knowing that their son was being babysat by someone marginally responsible at least. He _had_ raised Germany, after all, and look how well Ludwig had turned out!

Hearing that the Prussian was available, and knowing that he could be trusted to look after small children, Vlad had also dropped his little brother Alexandru off at the Austrian’s for breakfast and socialising. Moldova and Kugelmugel got on well, and the arrangement proved beneficial to all parties – the children were fed, Gil could feel useful without being taken advantage of (he got on well with kids - their energy made him feel young again, and it helped to have others in a similar situation of non-country status) and the adults didn’t have to worry about the youngsters’ wellbeing. 

“So, kids, how does pancakes sound?” the Prussian asked his charges, frying pan in hand as he grinned at them. Needless to say, the children’s eyes lit up, returning the grin just as eagerly.

“Yummy!” they chorused, licking their lips in anticipation.

“Ja, of course! Pancakes are awesome! And mein cooking skills are even awesomer!” Gil boasted as he mixed the batter, pouring it into the pan with the easy skill that came from years of practice.

Hans frowned. “Awesomer isn’t a word, uncle. It should be ‘more awesome.’” Gil turned around and pointed a warning finger at the boy.

“O.K., for one, don’t call me uncle. You’re my cousin, not my nephew, and besides it makes me sound really old which is totally _not_ awesome. And two, it is now. Geez, so pedantic; you sound just like Roddy.” The Prussian’s whining complaint was met with an unsympathetic stare from his relative.

Hans shrugged. “Papa says proper diction is important. But language is Art, so making new words is Art, too,” he added quickly. Gil huffed and nodded, mollified at his nephew’s words.

“Art or not, I’m hungry! Are they ready yet?” Alexandru chimed in, leaning around Hans to look longingly at the food.

“Yeah, yeah, just hold on a minute!” Gil chuckled at the boy’s impatience, returning his attention to the mixture crisping in the pan.

Two pairs of eyes watched in hungry wonder as he deftly flipped the pancakes over before sliding them onto the plates, quickly repeating the process and carrying the stacks over to the table.

“Here you go, kids. Eat up!” Enthusiastic thanks greeted the Prussian’s efforts, and the children eagerly dug in, savouring the delicious chewy batter and sweet syrup. For a moment the table was quiet as the trio enjoyed the food, the only sounds that of cutlery clinking and small noises of hungry appreciation.

While the boys at least tried to remember their table manners, Gil was rather less concerned with etiquette. In an attempt to entertain his young patrons, he cut the stacks into bite-sized pieces and started throwing them up in the air, attempting to catch them in his open mouth. Centuries of practice ensured that he hit the mark almost every time, with the failures at least landing back on the plate instead of his face or clothes. Thank goodness Roderich didn’t have a cat for _that_ particular scenario to occur, so beloved of comedic routines. 

Inevitably, though, one of Gilbert’s throws over-estimated the location of his mouth, and the chunk of pancake landed on his face. Unfortunately, it ended up on his eye, and the boys began to giggle at the sight of the unusual eyepatch. A bit of syrup flowed down his cheek, almost making it look like the Prussian was crying. In fact, as he sighed and picked the morsel off with a regretful shrug, his eye _had_ started to water, stinging at the sugary liquid and the unexpected impact.

“ _Verdammt_ , that hurts,” he cursed. “I’m gonna go wash this off. You kids finish your breakfast, preferably without trying that, O.K.? The two nodded, and Gil headed upstairs to get cleaned off.

After wiping his face with a cloth, Gil peered at his face in the mirror, blinking. His eye still stung, not helped by the fact that he was wearing the blue-tinted lenses that protected his sensitive albino eyes from the sun. He didn’t really have to wear them around the house, but over the years he’d got into the habit of putting them in anyway; it didn’t hurt (syrup attacks aside) and it prevented the funny looks or curious stares people sometimes gave him when they saw his red eyes.

As he plucked the contact out to replace it with a fresh one, Gilbert was interrupted by a voice coming from the doorway of the bathroom. It was Alexandru, wondering where to put the plates.

“Just leave them by the sink, I’ll clean them later,” he told the Moldovan, who nodded and turned as if to go. He frowned, and turned back, tilting his head to one side in a mixture of curiosity and concern.

“Um, Mr Prussia, why are your eyes two different colours? They weren’t like that before,” he asked anxiously, intrigued at the sight but worried he’d offend the older nation.

This time it was Gil’s turn to frown. Granted, having one red eye and one blue one did look pretty weird, but surely the kid had seen him without the contacts before? Then again, maybe he hadn’t; the two didn’t actually see each other very often. They only really met on the occasions when Vlad brought him over to see Hans, and Gil happened to be at Austria’s house at the same time. Even then Gil was often more concerned with heading off (or sometimes deliberately provoking, depending on his mood) potential arguments between the Romanian and Elizaveta, who still didn’t get on after centuries of conflict, even though the original source of their enmity had long since been resolved. The Hungarian could be pretty scary when angered, especially if her frying pan was involved.

The Prussian sighed, resolved to explain his condition and the reason why he wore special contact lenses, but was stopped by the timely arrival of Hans, who had come to see what was taking the other two so long.

Having caught his friend’s question, Kugelmugel explained in his cousin’s place. “Gil’s eyes aren’t naturally blue, they’re red. He’s got albinism. Didn’t you know? I thought you’d seen them before.”

Alexandru shook his head. “No, I didn’t. What’s albinism? I’m sorry if I’m being rude, but I haven’t heard of it before.”

“It’s fine, kid, don’t worry about it,” Gil assured the younger nation. “It means my body doesn’t produce melanin – that’s a type of pigment in your skin and hair and stuff – the way it should, so my eyes look red because the muscle in my iris doesn’t have enough colour. It’s also why my hair is so white and my skin is paler than Ludwig’s, because I can’t tan like he does.”

Moldova nodded at the explanation. “I understand. Why blue, though? You could choose any colour you wanted.”

Gil showed him the lens he’d taken out. “It’s because they’ve got a special filter to block UV light – the rays from the sun. My eyes are more sensitive than other people’s, so this helps protect them. Plus, it makes my eyes look purple, which is pretty cool.”

“Your eyes are like mine, then,” Moldova stated matter-of-factly. “I can make my eyes look red, too.”

“Really? You never said!” Hans accused him, narrowing his own violet eyes in suspicion at the other boy.

“You never asked. Watch.” As he spoke, Alexandru’s irises slowly brightened from their usual glossy, dark brown to a rich, vibrant crimson, the typical blood-red of a hungry vampire. He frowned in concentration, then looked from one to another once the transformation was complete.

“See?” he said, opening his mouth to show the tiny, sharp fangs nestled within. His pupils had changed shape as well, becoming slitted like a cats’. All in all, he looked every inch the part of an Eternal Child, his wide grin adding to the supernatural image. He held the transformation a moment longer, then let it fade, his eyes returning to their normal colour and his teeth retracting to their usual size.

Gil let out a whistle as the Moldovan blinked a few times to let his eyes adjust. “That’s something else, kid!” he declared in amazement. “How’d you manage it?”

Moldova shrugged. “Big brother says it’s to do with how people associate us with vampires. We can do anything people think vampires can because that’s what they think of when they think of our countries. Vampires have red eyes and fangs; so, so do we, if we want. It’s why I can fly, too.”

“Why don’t you have them all the time, then?” Hans asked.

“Because we’re human, _not_ vampires.” Alexandru replied crossly in the sing-song voice of one used to repeating that exact phrase.

“Huh. You learn something new every day. I thought Romania did that by magic.” Gil mused, discarding the old lens and taking the other one out as well.

“He does, but that’s to scare Mr America. He doesn’t know we’re really human.” Moldova admitted. “Well, not _human_ , but whatever we are. Countries. Only don’t tell him I said that because it’s supposed to be a secret,” he added hurriedly, looking slightly guilty at having revealed the information.

The Germanics nodded. “We won’t,” they promised.

“So, what do you want to do now?” Gil asked once he had finished cleaning himself up and the three were back downstairs. The meeting was still in session, so the nations – well, two nations and one micronation – were free to do as they pleased. 

Since it was a beautiful sunny day outside, they decided to go to the park to enjoy the fresh air and good weather. As the children got ready, Gil sent a quick text to both Roderich and Vlad, telling them where they were going and not to worry if they weren’t back by the time the meeting ended. He fetched his own coat and shoes, pausing to look in the mirror hanging in the hall.

Red eyes, white hair and unnaturally pale skin. For centuries, Gilbert had despised his appearance, loathing the way it singled him out. He’d hated being labelled as something different, something to be pitied at best and scorned, or even feared, at worst. Over the years he’d carefully developed the brash and bold personality he had today, overcompensating for the stares and whispers by deliberately making himself noticeable, projecting a false air of almost arrogant confidence.

That was why he’d relished the invention of the coloured lenses. Not only did it provide a medical benefit for his light-sensitive eyes, but it allowed him to cover them up, stopping people from continually pointing out his obvious differences. Not that it mattered so much in today’s society, when people dyed their hair every colour under the sun, and unusual eyes were simply seen as some form of costume or cosplay. But still, it was nice to have the option to choose.

And although he’d long since come to terms with his condition and resulting appearance, it had taken a child, of all things, to help Gil accept himself once and for all. With one simple gesture, he had shown the albino that he wasn’t alone, he wasn’t the only person – the only nation – to have something that made them different. Made them unique. Variety was what made everyone interesting, and it was something to be embraced, not feel ashamed about.

Gil gave his reflection a grin and winked, uncaring that the gesture looked a little odd. He turned to the children waiting impatiently for him outside, who were blissfully unaware of his internal monologue. He waved at them, signalling he was ready, and went out to join them, smiling as they walked along, chattering happily about nothing in particular. 

Yes, the time for self-loathing had passed, Gil decided. Life was too short to worry about such things, even if you were an immortal nation. And on this gloriously sunny day with everything radiant and sparkling in the crisp winter air, who was to tell him otherwise?

**Author's Note:**

> So, idk if Gil not liking being an albino is particularly a thing or not, canon or fanon, but I just thought it'd be cool to write a fic where Mol sees his eyes being red and goes 'hey, same!' Hope you liked it :)


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